Law & Order
by M. the Inspector
Summary: The group wants Daryl to stay with them in the jail. Daryl won't stay without his brother. His brother is... difficult. Rick tries to make it work. (This fic is daryl!whomp. Fuller warning inside.)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Takes place towards the end of season 3… but not the _end_-end, if you know what I mean (no spoilers here!). Merle is still living in the jail with everybody, and being his usual asshole self, and Rick is trying to find a way to make it work.

**Warning:** Like the label says, this is daryl!whomp. Warning for minor violence. Not extreme, but potentially triggery, if you've got issues with father-figures and belts.

* * *

"Merle. Can I talk to you a second?"

"Sure thing, boss!" It's too bright and the smile doesn't come anywhere near his eyes. Rick is glad; at least Merle does him the courtesy of not pretending.

He takes him aside where nobody else can hear. Daryl is standing in the doorway, restless, so Rick orders him out with a gesture and he goes.

"So." Merle says when they're alone. Crosses his arms.

"We need to get some things straight between you and me," Rick says.

"Lay it on me, boss."

He's going to interrupt whenever Rick pauses, that's clear. Rick takes a breath for patience and goes on. "We got rules here. Laws. Okay? You need to understand that even if the world's fallen apart there are still consequences for breakin laws, just like always. You hear?"

Merle laughs. "We're already in jail, boss. Are you gonna build a jail _in _the jail to-"

"Naw, no jail." Two can play the interruption game. Rick shakes his head with a brief smile, as if they're actually joking together. Then he gets serious. "Here we gotta get creative."

"All ears."

"Now… I already cleared this with Daryl," Rick warns, "So don't bother arguin. Just listen up, because this is how it's gonna be."

At the mention of his brother, Merle draws himself up with a frown. He takes his boot off the chair, stands with his hips and shoulders square. "How's it gonna be," he says softly. All challenge.

"How it's gonna be is, if you screw up – if you break our rules, our _laws _ – then there's gonna be consequences. But I know you're a tough sonofabitch and you wouldn't care _what_ I do to you, so:" He says the rest slowly and calmly and staring into Merle's eyes. "When you screw up, I'm gonna take off my belt, and I'm gonna give _Daryl_ a fuckin beating with it. Do you understand me?"

Rick is tensed and ready to fight; he knows he might have to shoot right here if Merle lunges with that knife-hand of his… but Merle does nothing of the kind. Instead he _wilts_, deflates, jaw slack and eyes glazed. After a moment he shakes his head. "No," he rasps, but Rick talks over him.

"And he's gonna lie there and _take_ it, because you know that's what he _does_, and I am gonna beat him until I think _you_ got the message, and-"

"You sonofa-"

"And if I have to whip him til he _cries_ I will," Rick says over him, voice rising now, "And if I have to whip him til it _scars_ I will, and he will _wear _those scars, and you will know it is all… on… _you_!"

It's silent. He's standing _over _Merle now, because Merle has hunched down, hands on his knees, shaking his head violently.

Rick drops his voice to almost a whisper. "I think neither of us wants that, but you know I will do it if I have to. Are we clear?"

After a long, long time, Merle nods.

* * *

It's only a matter of time before Merle crosses a line. He and Michonne are at it like cats and dogs every day, but Michonne can take care of herself, so Rick turns a blind eye. It's when things get heated with Glenn and Maggie, and a blow from the metal stump leaves Glenn with a concussion, that he can't ignore any more.

He doesn't take long to decide; Merle will read hesitation as fear. "Knocking people out because they annoy you is against our laws, Merle," he says. "I told you what would happen if you broke our laws."

Daryl's got half an eye on his brother, as always, and the trouble has drawn him over. He overhears that last bit. "Shit," he mutters.

Rick turns to him. "I'm sorry, Daryl."

"Not your fault," Daryl says tightly. "Do it now?"

Swift action is one thing, but this is happening almost too fast for Rick to process. "Uh- Yeah. Yeah, I guess so." He tries to stay calm.

Merle, of course, is anything but. It takes five people – including Daryl, who's the only one brave enough to get near that knife – to wrangle him into the cell block and lock him in a cell. Once the door is secure, Daryl snarls "We don't need no damn audience!" and the block empties out fast.

Merle has stopped raging and started to beg. "I just- I just smacked him upside the head, Rick, come on!" Rick ignores him. "I didn't use the _knife _for Christ's sake!"

"If you had," Rick says, "I'd have shot you dead, and we wouldn't be having this conversation."

That shuts him up for a second, long enough for Rick and Daryl to talk logistics. "Up against the bars?" Daryl suggests, nodding towards the window. "Give me something to hold on to?"

Rick looks around. There's enough clearance to swing a belt, and it's right in Merle's line of vision. "Yeah, that'll work." Merle has started up again, muttering and swearing, so Rick has to talk a little louder to be heard over him. "Take your shirt off – lesson's no good if he can't see it."

"_No_!" Merle roars, and Rick doesn't quite understand that until Daryl nods and quietly says okay, and pulls his shirt over his head to reveal a set of ugly, ugly scars.

He'd known there was history, but…

"Fuck you," Merle wheezes from behind him.

Rick doesn't let himself hesitate. "Step up there and grab hold," he says, and takes off his belt.

* * *

**TBC.** There are two more parts, and I'll post em one a day.

Let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Okay, here's the violence.

* * *

They're in position and he's about to start. Just before he does – _just_; his arm's already drawing back – Daryl calls his name, sharp and sudden.

Rick goes to him at once. "Yeah?" he says softly. Whatever this conversation is, Merle doesn't need to hear.

"Give me a number, man." Daryl's voice is shaking a little, despite best efforts. "Don't leave me here to just... hope."

That tells Rick more than he wants to know, makes him a little sick as he prepares to drag his friend, his _family_ back to-

"Please, man, come on." Daryl apparently misunderstands his hesitation. "Just a ballpark."

"Yeah, yeah, of course," Rick assures straight away. Then hesitates. "I want to do this right so's we don't have to do it again. I'm thinking... fifteen, twenty. That work for you?"

Daryl calms down instantly. "Shit." He draws himself up, clutches harder at the bars. "Merle's tough. Better make it twenty-five." He's so cool that Rick wonders if maybe he imagined the dread he'd heard a moment ago – maybe Daryl was never hovering on the edge of panic at all.

"Okay." He resists the urge to give him a pat. "You got it. Twenty-five or thereabouts. You ready?"

"Guhead."

Rick steps back and doubles the belt – he'll have better control this way. If he feels like he's not getting anywhere he can always unfold it later.

He turns one last time to Merle – whose face is blank, except for the eyes. They're wide and haunted but Rick doesn't look away. "Now you watch," he says. "Cause if I look up and you're _not _watchin, we start over. Clear?"

Daryl hears that. "Don't screw me, Merle," he says, without turning to look. "Any more than you have already."

Merle swallows. "Fuck you," he says to Rick. "Fuck you _both._" But he steps up to the bars and watches.

* * *

The Dixon brothers are probably the toughest people Rick has ever met. Merle sawed off his own hand. Daryl pulled a crossbow bolt from his guts and killed a walker with it (and then, for some reason known to no one, cut off the walker's ears to string a necklace with). Rick figures that making an impression on the two of them with nothing but a belt is not going to be easy, so he doesn't play around: he winds up and slashes down with his whole arm, catching Daryl on a long diagonal from shoulder to kidney.

Daryl sucks his breath in and says _MMMM_, and rocks up against the bars. Rick strikes again right away, down the other side this time, and Daryl hisses. Pressed even further into the grate as if he's trying to get away.

But it's the third stroke that does it – it's right over the first, and the flesh had already started to darken but this time a long livid welt springs up immediately. There's blood under the skin, going to be blood all over his back before this is over.

But while Daryl twists with a short pained gasp it's _Merle _who really breaks; he chokes out "Don't" and reaches through the bars.

Daryl hears that and tenses up even harder. Rick ignores it and lashes him again.

And again.

Rick had no idea the belt would cut this bad; eight strokes in and blood is welling up in several places; twelve strokes in and it's dripping down his back.

He pauses a moment to catch his breath, and hears that Daryl is crying_. _Well... maybe not _crying _exactly; there may not be tears, but he's making soft high noises like a wounded animal. But he isn't fighting or running away. He is taking it.

Merle is not nearly so accepting. He's already shouted and cursed himself raw, raged and threatened until – when he had the bright idea of bringing Carl's name into the rant – Rick turned to him and said coldly: "One more word and I'll do this again tomorrow."

Now he's almost hysterical. "That's enough," he wheezes, voice high and breaking. "That's enough, dammit, I told you, I _said _I won't do it again-... Rick, come on, it's enough."

"No, it ain't," Rick says, and swings again.

This time Daryl barks out _ah!_ before he can control himself, and Merle bangs his stump against the cage. "Stop it! Touch him again I'll kill you!"

"_Merle_!" It's the first time Daryl's spoken. He lets go the window with one hand so he can turn, and speaks over his shoulder. His voice is clogged, his eyes red and wet. "Shit like that you're only gonna make it worse. Shut up, okay? Jesus." He shoots Rick what is almost a smile, rolling his eyes, shaking his head in friendly disgust: _can you BELIEVE this guy_?

Rick wants more than anything to smile back, but any comfort he gives will diminish the effectiveness of the punishment. Merle has to be made miserable and for that, so does Daryl.

"Turn around, son: you're not done."

Daryl's face shutters and it's going to be a while before he's forgiven for that one, isn't it.

When Daryl's in position again Rick slashes hard without any pauses, and it's only six strokes before Daryl lets go of the bars and flails his way to his knees. Hunches over. Cowering on the floor, breathing in gasps... _now _he is done. _Now _they've made a spectacle.

Still, just to make sure, Rick hits him twice more while he's all crumpled up. Really whales down on him. It draws yelps.

That'll do. He doesn't have the stomach for much more anyway. He tosses the belt down – it's wet with Daryl's blood; he's not about to put it back on. "That's enough. Daryl: you okay?" He takes a few steps closer and crouches down.

* * *

**TBC.**

Whomp is over. Cuddlez iz next! (Okay, not really cuddles. Sorry.)

Let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

When Daryl flinches away from him, Rick gets a little choked up. He wants to apologize – even though they talked in advance and Daryl made him swear to do no such thing. _Afterwards just let me be,_ he'd ordered. _Just forget it, okay?_

He remembers his promise and backs away. "I'll be outside if you need anything," he says softly. "I'm gonna go let your brother out now. Before he makes all of us deaf."

Merle is roaring and rattling his cage like an enraged zoo ape. "Now don't do anything stupid," Rick warns, and unlocks the door.

The moment it's open Merle shoves past him. Rick turns, morbid curiosity really, can't imagine _Merle _of all people showing care.

But Merle streaks right by Daryl. Doesn't even turn to look. He stampedes out of the cell block and down the hall.

In the sudden quiet, Rick stares with his mouth wide open. "Well. Can't say I expected that," he murmurs after a moment.

A soggy laugh from the floor. "That makes one of us."

He's relieved that Daryl is speaking to him, at least. "I'll get you something to clean off with, okay? Don't move. Your back's bleeding some."

"Naw." Daryl sniffs in an unappealing-sounding lungful of snot. "Looks it, maybe, but it's probly mostly sweat."

"Well, still don't move." Rick tries to strike a balance between gentleness and authority – the last thing he wants now is to bully, but he is _not _letting Daryl go anywhere until he's been tended to. "You promised you'd let someone look at it after, remember?" he says. "We can't afford infection."

Daryl snuffles again. "Didn't say it'd be you."

Fair enough. So he offers to let Daryl pick his own nursemaid. When all he gets is a sullen shrug, he says: "Then stay put" once more, and goes to get some first aid supplies himself.

When he comes back Daryl is up on his knees, facing the wall, back bowed to present the best surface for wiping. "Wet rag," Rick says first, by way of warning, and then gets to work. It turns out Daryl was right; once it's cleaned off it looks a lot less like carnage and a lot more like just a handful of bleeding scrapes and some split skin. A lot of nasty welts, though. The shit must hurt.

"I got some neosporin here," he offers.

"What? Hell with that, don't waste the neosporin on me," Daryl protests. "Just wipe it down with alcohol, I'll be fine."

He's right – they really shouldn't use precious antibacterial ointments unless they really need to – but still. "Alcohol'll sting."

Daryl makes a pretend-spooky noise. "Ooooooooh."

"You're an asshole," Rick says genially. Splashes vodka onto a rag (it's the most plentiful alcohol they have, so it's become first-line defense for cuts and such these days). He puts one hand high on Daryl's shoulder, above the marks, and says: "Sorry about this."

"Guhead. _Damn_!" He bangs his hand against the wall, but otherwise holds perfectly still.

"Sorry." Rick moves on to the next one.

"Said don't say that." Daryl's voice is tight. "So... d'you think we got what we needed? _Mmn!_"

"Sorry. You tell me – you know him best. I'd say he looked pretty upset." Daryl is shining with sweat again, so he takes a moment to towel some away before finishing up. Apologizing with every scrape.

When they're done, Daryl still won't look at him. He hopes it's just because crying embarrasses him – if their relationship is wrecked up he's not going to forgive himself. "Listen," he says, "This won't happen again."

Daryl laughs – harsh and airy. "Fuckin hope not."

"I mean it. No more. Either it worked or it didn't – if Merle doesn't shape up after this he's gone. We clear?"

Daryl doesn't acknowledge that. All he does is say, to the wall: "I'll talk to him."

* * *

He finds Merle without too much trouble. Up in one of the guard houses, sitting with his legs dangling over the side. He calls up from the ground, but Merle ignores him. So he climbs.

"Can't believe you made me chase you up here," he complains as soon as he gets to the top.

Merle looks over at him. "You look like a damn mummy," is all he says.

Well, he didn't get hit, so that's invitation enough to sit down. Daryl sits. "Didn't need no infection, so I let Rick wrap it."

"Fuck Rick," Merle says. Softly – which is all the more dangerous. "I'm gonna fuckin cut off his-"

"Hey." Daryl gets it out short and sharp, and it works. "Cut it out. I'm fine."

So Merle shifts gears. "The hell you are. You're a pussy is what you are. Runnin back to kiss up to daddy after he whupped you like the little bitch you always been."

"I ain't never run back to kiss up to daddy, Merle," he says. Amazed at how steady it comes out. Steady and cold. "Which I guess you wouldn't know, cause you weren't there."

Merle's head turns fast, as if he's been hit.

"And I ain't kissin up to Rick neither," he says, still calmly. "Though I would if I had to. Cause if I didn't, he woulda thrown your ass out. Okay? And you'd die out there."

Merle sniffs and spits, down over the edge. "And you wouldn't go with me," he says. Bitter as all hell.

"I got a life here," Daryl says. But it sounds... defensive. Like if Merle asked, really pushed him, _made _him...

But he shakes his head and insists. "I got friends. People who need me."

"Sure they do," Merle laughs. "And they like you too, huh? Redneck like Daryl Dixon, minglin with the nice folk."

"They obviously _do _like me – they're willin to put up with _your_ sorry ass to keep me around!"

Merle doesn't answer.

"Don't fuck this up for me, bro." Now he's _really _begging. But what else can he do? "I took a beating for you today – _again –_ and there was no reason for it. Rick won't be a hardass, he's not gonna execute you for a damn speeding ticket – all you have to do is make an effort. Just... be decent. Okay? That's all."

Merle spits again. "That bitch made me mad," he says softly.

It's almost like an apology. Close enough. "I know. And I'm gonna talk to everybody about it, okay, because they shouldn't be messin with you if they want us to stick around."

"Yeah." Finally Merle turns to look. "You okay?"

Daryl nods. "Yeah, it-," He coughs. Why the hell is his throat all thick? "It wasn't that bad. Had worse." He doesn't think about it.

Merle heaves a sigh. "Shit." He beckons with a toss of his head. "Cmere, little brother."

Daryl shifts closer. Merle drapes an arm around him and pulls him in to lean, but moving like that tugs on his back in all the wrong ways and he squirms. "Ow – fuckin watch it, man," he complains.

Merle doesn't let go. "Shut up, Darylina."

Daryl shuts up.

* * *

**The End.**

**My first TWD fic! Let me know how it worked.**


End file.
